


Before the Toothbrushes

by letsstartagain



Series: We're Here Because We're Here [3]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: 1.05 missing scene, Angst, Culmets - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, SpaceBoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 03:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12696429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsstartagain/pseuds/letsstartagain
Summary: “Engineering to sickbay, we have an emergency in the spore drive control room.”Paul!Hugh's heart shouted,Paul! Paul!In which Paul does The Stupid Thing and Hugh briefly loses his mind. Before the toothbrushes.





	Before the Toothbrushes

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [До вечерних процедур](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13484667) by [allayonel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allayonel/pseuds/allayonel)



“Engineering to sickbay, we have an emergency in the spore drive control room.”

Cadet Tilly’s high, uncertain voice wavered, and Hugh froze, halfway through a metaphorical laparotomy of Biobed One’s malfunctioning biofunction monitor.

“Sickbay to Engineering,” the CMO said into the com. Her sharp eyes met Hugh’s from across the room, “We have a vacancy in Biobed Two. Beam them up.”

A crackling scuffle from the other end of the com, the sound of a communicator changing hands at close quarters. Someone’s voice--Michael’s?--sharp and urgent. Unconsciously, Hugh rose slowly to his feet.

“Negative, Doctor,” Saru’s clipped voice sounded suddenly through the room, “Send Dr. Culber down immediately.” Another scuffle, garbled speech. “With a gurney.”

“Who is it?” Hugh heard himself say, distant and small.

“There’s been an… incident,” Saru said.

 _“Who is it?”_ Hugh demanded, gripping the monitor's electronic guts so tightly its motherboard cracked in two.

 _“Hugh,”_ the CMO snapped.

“It’s Lieutenant Stamets,” Saru replied.

Hugh bolted for the door, heart pounding, a strange tingling numbing his hands as he fumbled the gurney out into the corridor.

 _Paul!_ his heart shouted, _Paul! Paul!_

“Out of the way!” he shouted, barrelling down the hall through a cluster of off-duty science officers, _“Move!”_

He crashed into the emergency medical lift with such force it beeped in protest, forcing him to manually slam the doors shut before it would hurl him deep into the belly of the ship.

_Paul! Paul!_

Half a breath, half a lifetime passed before the doors opened noiselessly again, and he flew out down the corridor, past every security clearance measure, every whispering crewmember until he skidded to a halt just inside the open door to the spore drive control room.

_Paul!_

He flicked on the repulsor battery on the gurney and towed it down after him, refusing to believe what he was seeing.

“Move, please,” he said tightly, pushing through science officers, engineering cadets, even members of the bridge crew. “Please, move.” He glimpsed a limp white hand, washed out under cold blue light.

_Paul! Paul!_

_“Out of my way!”_ he bellowed.

Saru held open the spore chamber door.

_Paul!_

Michael Burnham stood beside him.

Inside, Hugh sank to a knee, hand pressed to one cold, pale cheek.

“Hey,” he said, forcing himself to evaluate the deep, bloodless puncture wounds, the fluttering pulse beneath his fingers.

Colorless lashes flickered, fluttered.

“Hugh.” A rasped breath.

“What have you done?” Hugh demanded, tearing the emergency bag from the gurney and unzipping it.

“He injected himself with the tardigrade DNA compound,” Tilly replied, small and quiet.

Paul laughed weakly, a demented, wheezing sound.

“Quiet,” Hugh snapped, mind whirling. Recombinatory genetics was so far beyond his realm of expertise that he filed Tilly’s statement away, compartmentalized it tightly with the fear, focusing instead on Paul’s labored breathing, on the vacant pain that creased the corners of his eyes and deepened the furrows in his brow.

“Why didn’t you transport him directly to the sickbay?” he demanded, carefully probing the four symmetrical wounds.

“I wasn’t sure what alterations might have been made to his biosignature,” Michael said, “I didn’t want to take any risks.”

Hugh swallowed, quickly unzipping Paul’s tunic.

“Good thinking,” he said to the gaping hole in his partner’s side.

“Hugh--” Paul rasped again.

“Sshhh, darling,” Hugh said tightly, “Save your breath.”

“Hugh--" Paul flopped a hand weakly into his shoulder, "I’m sorry.”

“Shut up,” Hugh snapped, voice tight, controlled.

He ignored the hurt confusion on Paul’s face and turned to Michael.

“Can you help me get him on the gurney?”

Saru took an uncertain half-step forward.

“Perhaps I--” he began.

“-- _Thank you_ , sir,” Hugh said sharply, eyes flashing.

He bit his tongue before anything else could escape.

Saru’s threat ganglia flared, and he stepped back, rare contrition flitting across his face. Hugh swallowed the swell of righteous victory in his chest and, together with Michael, transferred Paul onto the gurney. Saru held the door open for them again as they exited, genuine, silent apology in his eyes as Hugh stormed past at Paul’s side, their hands clasped together.

“Hugh, I’m fine, really,” Paul said hoarsely.

“Get everyone the fuck out of here!” Hugh shouted, forcing his way through the crowd, “Out of the way!”

Behind them, Saru took up the call, and his voice of command did what Hugh’s could not, scattering the onlookers before them for the lifts.

Paul gripped Hugh’s hand tightly, pale and bloodless as they surged back into the emergency medical turbolift.

“When we get back up to sickbay,” Hugh said, furious at the slight tremor in his voice, “We’re going to run some scans, just to get some idea about what’s going on before I try anything else.”

“I’m fine,” Paul repeated, pulling Hugh’s hand closer to his chest, “Everything’s fine.”

Michael looked away, hands tightening on the gurney.

Hugh smoothed back Paul’s hair.

“No,” he replied. The lift doors slammed open again. “But they will be.”

They barrelled down the short stretch of corridor to the open doors of the sickbay.

“Yeah,” Paul said faintly, a lopsided smile on his face, “They’re great.”

Hugh clung to Paul’s hand as nurses and fellow doctors swarmed the gurney. The CMO was waiting.

“Out,” she commanded.

Hugh jerked his head up, betrayed.

“But--”

“--Starfleet Medical 101. No next of kin allowed on the treatment team in these situations.”

Hugh glanced down at Paul, at his glassy eyes, their conjoined hands.

“Doctor,” he tried again, _“Please._ I can help."

“Hugh,” she snapped, eyes fixed on the  biofunction monitor, “Don’t make me pull rank.”

“Go,” Michael said.

Hugh, startled, looked down at her.

“I have knowledge of the tardigrade compound that was injected,” she continued, arms folded, “I will stay here and assist Lieutenant Stamets’s medical team in their assessments and keep you informed of any developments.”

Chest tight, Hugh turned back to Paul,

“I’m fine, Hugh,” Paul slurred, “Go.”

He squeezed Hugh’s hand tightly.

Hugh swallowed.

“I’ll be in my quarters,” he said to Michael, “If _anything_ \--”

“--Understood,” Michael replied evenly, novel understanding in her eyes.

Hugh nodded jerkily, hesitated, then bent and lightly touched his lips to Paul’s.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Sshh,” Paul breathed, a smile struggling across his face, “Someone might hear.”

“Hugh,” the CMO said pointedly.

Paul winked broadly up at him.

Hugh swallowed again, then turned back to Michael.

 _“Anything,”_ he repeated.

Michael nodded.

Hugh slipped his hand from Paul’s, turned on his heel, and strode from the sickbay, wordless emotion misting his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Discovery_ 's CMO better be a bomb-ass lady doctor so I don't have to rewrite this thing.
> 
> Yes, these have become a series.  
> There's an obligatory multi-chapter origin story in the works.
> 
> Find me on tumblr [here](https://inflatablezebras.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  


End file.
